


With All My Heart

by TastesLikeCream



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Background Relationships, Cultural Differences, Dwobbit Bilbo, Dysfunctional Family, Family Secrets, Female Bombur, Gen, Marks, Multiple Pairings, Possible Character Death, Possible Relationships - Freeform, Prophecy, Prophetic Visions, Rare Pairings, Rewrite, Rivendell, Rule 63, Sibling Incest, Soul Bond, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Aragorn, Young Bilbo Baggins, soul marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastesLikeCream/pseuds/TastesLikeCream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins with three elves and a hobbit. The three elves are the children of Elrond and the hobbit, Belladonna Took. The four share marks on their wrist, Arwen and Belladonna sharing identical ones down to the exact shade and moment they appear. Neither knows that about the other one of course. All they know at the time is that Belladonna Took is a rather extraordinary hobbit who’d travelled all the way to Rivendell and that Arwen Undómiel is the daughter of Elrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It begins with three elves and a hobbit. The three elves are the children of Elrond and the hobbit, Belladonna Took. The four share marks on their wrist, Arwen and Belladonna sharing identical ones down to the exact shade and moment they appear. Neither knows that about the other one of course. All they know at the time is that Belladonna Took is a rather extraordinary hobbit who’d travelled all the way to Rivendell and that Arwen Undómiel is the daughter of Elrond.

It starts with Elladan who stares at the pale skin of his wrist where the mark lies and then at the shield that carries the vines of ivy interwoven within one another. He catches himself staring at it and then at the doors in the garden that appear without warning, their handles cold and unwelcoming. And there are long heartbeats in that time in which he hears voices from the other sides, low and whispery and then the doors gone and he’s falling to his knees as the support of it leaves him.

Elrohir is who notices it next, his mark on the opposite wrist of his brothers. On his wrist a pair of hands, wrinkled and gnarled, weatherworn are open and holding a crown above them. He does not see any doors, does not feel the cold, unexpected and unwelcomeness of turning in the garden only to be faced by a door that had suddenly appeared. Instead he is faced with moments of almost illness, of sudden weakness and fatigue. He becomes winded easily, coughing and choking as he attempts to catch his breath. And if there are moments that he sees droplets of blood on his hand, he says nothing.

Arwen notices hers at the same moment that Belladonna Took takes the hand of a blonde haired dwarf in a tavern. She’s walking down a hallway alone and hears a voice that’s almost hers, only it’s too deep and too angry to be hers, exclaiming: ‘give me my baby’. It nearly knocks her over as she turns around to face whoever shouted only to find her alone, staring at her wrist. Now on her wrist, an Ash tree with long roots extending outwards towards her elbow. She sees no gates and does not feel winded but instead feels an empty ache in her arms as she resumes walking, the yell of ‘give me back my baby’ still echoing in her head.

Belladonna Took doesn’t notice hers as she takes the blonde haired dwarf’s hand and allows her to be lead up to his room. She does not realize that as she takes his hand Elladan feels a part of himself detach from the world as the gates open up, that Elrohir doubles over in crippling pain and that Arwen hears the laughter of a child. She does not notice the ash tree on her arm as kisses the dwarf. She does not notice anything as they fall into bed together. That the moment the dwarf’s hips stutter Elladan hands over a part of himself, that Elrohir watches a sandy haired child run past him and that Arwen watches herself rocking a child, humming a lullaby beneath her breath and that it is the beginning of many visions for the three siblings.

* * *

It is Elrond who searches for meanings after endless visions of a sandy haired child. He pours over books and scrolls, searching and looking for any sort of relations to the visions that he’s been having. The visions that his children have are kept secret, even from each other, swept under the rug and hidden. Still he is plagued endlessly, tormented by visions of a sandy haired child who smiles at him, laughs at him but runs, always towards a faceless creature that he cannot see. It is Galadriel who finds the meaning as he sits, pouring over one of the books. She enters silently, coming to sit beside him.

“Protect, save, sacrifice; three symbols, three children. Belladonna Took carries the same mark as Arwen and she will come to you in need soon.” Galadriel says and her face betrays no emotions as Elrond looks at her.

“Belladonna Took has sent me no letters and has not come to visit. I went to her wedding and everything seemed perfectly fine.” And the smile that she gives him is so achingly sad as she stands up, walking from the room.

“I wish that everything was perfectly fine. I wish so very much that it was.”

He says goodbye to his children the next day, telling them that he’s going to the Shire to check up on Belladonna Took. A bad feeling he calls it as he rides off. He doesn’t return for nearly two months.

Arwen stands on the balcony and stares out over Rivendell, a restless feeling curling in the pit of her stomach.          It’s the first time all night that she has been able to stand up and walk, her sides, her back and even her stomach all bothering her with sharp, shooting aches and pains. She’d let out groans of pain with each one, curling in on herself and trying in vain to make them stop. The pains had only increased, growing sharper and sharper until they gradually lessened and she didn’t feel them at all anymore. She hadn’t noticed that as the pains stopped one of the roots cracked and then shriveled up, disappearing from her skin.

Estel stands beside her now, leaning up against her and staring at the Ash tree on her wrist. His eyes flicker across the roots, his lips moving silently as he counts the roots. He pauses in his counting, eyebrows furrowing as he resumes his counting only to frown and look up at Arwen.

“Excuse me Lady Arwen, Estel but breakfast is ready.” Lindir’s tone is polite as if he hasn’t spent more than half the night listening to her screams of agony.

“Thank you Lindir. Go on Estel.” Arwen remains frozen as the footsteps slowly fade away, leaning more and more against the railing of the balcony until she’s sinking down to her knees. The pain is back again, only this time it’s an empty sort of aching, a resigned kind of feeling that this is all she can do. She stays like that until Lindir comes back and then he’s pulling her up, calling for help as he moves her back to her bed. Healers run their hands over her head, her arms, across her stomach, all shaking their heads because she can give no answer other than she’s just very, very tired. And again, another root cracks and shrivels up to disappear.

They leave her, confused and worried about what they can do and should do for her when all she wants to do is lay in the bed. Arwen sleeps during her time in the bed but does not dream. She wakes up but does have visions. She does not feel hunger or thirst. And she does not have energy. She is stuck in the world between the living and the dead, in the grainy gray of in between, watching the healers mutter possibilities of what it could be and that there’s nothing they can do. And then she hears the muffled thunder of hoof beats coming for Rivendell, slow and steady but hoof beats, coming here. And there’s the rustle of blankets, the sound of something shifting inside, something very small.

Arwen is being pulled from the grainy grayness of the in between world, standing up and walking towards the sound of hoof beats. She ignores the healers who rush towards her, asking if she needs something and wanting to know if she’s all right. Arwen walks towards the hoof beats which grow louder now and towards the sound of her father’s voice. It takes her a moment to claw her way through the haze of her mind, through the pull that she feels to realize he’s saying her name over and over, staring at her as he holds a bundle of blankets away from her.

“Arwen. Please go back and lie down. You’ve had a long and difficult night.” His face is pinched as he shifts his body away from hers, shifting the blankets closer to his chest and away from her view. Still though she feels a pull in her chest; tugging her, yanking her harder and harder towards him and towards the blankets. She holds her hands out, swallowing through the thick dryness in her throat as she stares at him.

“Please, I need to see.” And she does feel a need, in her chest that spreads her body. The need is clearly not the same for Elrond. He hesitates, clutching the blankets tight and turns his body even further away from hers, looking down at the bundle. She can hear others footsteps approaching now, her brothers coming towards them. Elrond frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as he lowers the blankets from his chest and then sighs, lifting them again. Anger swells in her chest, spreading down through her stomach. It’s not just anger but fury, hot and white, threatening to scald her insides as she glares at her father.

“Give me my baby!” The words fall from her mouth without her meaning to; her voice echoing across Rivendell. It’s chased quickly by the whimpers and then cries of a baby, coming from the blankets which Elrond hands over to her. All at once the tugging stops, the insistent yanking stops and she is staring at the perfectly round face of a pointy eared child with a dusting of sandy blonde hair. “Look at him, so soft…So perfect.”

“Arwen, this is not your duty, not your responsibility to take this baby. Belladonna Took,” Elrond’s words go unheard by Arwen who continues to stare at the perfectly rounded face of the baby who continues its crying. He stares at her arm in silent horror as yet another root cracks and then shrivels up.

“There’s a baby? Where’d they come from?” Arwen barely registers the hands of her brothers and Estel grabbing at the blankets and pulling them down, tugging at her arms, hoping for a better look at the baby.

“Bilbo, his name is Bilbo.” She turns away from them, turning and walking towards the kitchen, rocking the still crying baby back and forth as she begins to hum a lullaby beneath her breath. Elrond watches as she walks off, dread slowly creeping through his body as he watches the others follow after her. He lingers after they’ve gone until finally he too walks off.

* * *

 

For Arwen, embracing motherhood comes naturally. She sits up at nights, watching him sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the twitch of his face and flare of his nostrils. She holds his hand in hers, staring at the size difference and trying to imagine tomorrow, a week, month, year from now and how they could ever be bigger than hers? She stares at his feet, completely besotted and wonders how they could belong to such a tiny being, running her fingers over the layer of fuzzy hair that covers his toes. She holds his neck, supporting his head as they stare at each other and it’s impossible to stop her smile as a root lengthens from the Ash tree and moves towards her elbow.

Elladan does not embrace Bilbo as readily as Arwen does. He stands off, unsure of how to take it when the dwobbit cries, spits up and is in need of changing. The whole concept is slightly foreign to him, of his sister being a mother, of him being an uncle. And with the memory of his visions fresh in his mind, he’s hesitant to step close. He watches from afar, hidden in the garden among flowers and vines, chest swelling at each discovery the child makes. There are several moments he goes to pick him and catches himself before he does, stepping back into the protection of the plants and returning to watching as Bilbo takes a step, clutching onto a vine for support.

For Elrohir it is easy to become attached, nearly as easy as it is for Arwen. He sits up with Bilbo in the gardens long after the sun has gone down, the moon disappearing and the stars beginning to dim. It’s the twilight between dusk and sunrise, the two of them together and nothing is moving. The only sounds are their breathing, nothing shattering the moment of them together as Elrohir shifts Bilbo to look at him. He a vision just as the sun rises, one that has him pressing him forehead against Bilbo’s and promising that he will do great things as he stands and heads inside.

Elrond though sits and watches from the window, all that happens, ignoring all the previous research of his prophecy. He sits and stares out the windows at Arwen who sits in the garden, smiling as she wipes spit up off Bilbo’s chin, not looking the least bit bothered by any of it. She’s completely embraced motherhood and yet he sits here, his back ramrod as Galadriel approaches him, laying a hand down on his shoulder.

“I could not help but notice that you were not enjoying your new grandson. I myself have spent several hours with him. Bilbo is quite a joy to be around.” Elrond looks towards her hand but does not look up.

“I am losing my children to a prophecy that has been written before their births, before our births, possibly even before our time. It is set in stone that may as well have been crafted by Mahal himself and there is nothing I can do. I’m losing my children and there is nothing I can do. Do we even know if Bilbo will have a part in this prophecy?”

“I cannot be sure; I’ve not seen anything yet. But that does not mean you cannot enjoy your time with Bilbo.”

“I never said his name and yet she knew it. I tried to keep from handing him to her and she demanded that I do it; she yelled in a voice that sounded so similar to Belladonna Took that I give her ‘her’ baby.”

“That is the connection that she shares with Belladonna Took I suppose, the sacrifice part of the prophecy,” Elrond says nothing as Galadriel brings her other hand down onto his shoulder. “Let yourself be open up to love for your grandson. The prophecy is written, set in stone we do not know. There are some things that may yet change.”

“Things such as what, what could change a prophecy that has been set in stone and may as well have been forged by Mahal himself?”

“The very creatures created by Mahal himself.”

And it is eight years into Bilbo’s life inside of Rivendell that the thunder of hoof beats returns, drawing both him and Estel from the library. They run together, ignoring shouted warnings for them not to run as they sprint down the stairs, nearly tumbling over the other one as they grab onto each other for support. They duck between the legs of Lindir, nearly bowling him over as they come face to face with a group of dwarves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> t felt as if he had fell through a sheet of ice, the frigidness of it stole the breath from his lungs and choked him. There was just something about the doors that he could not explain that made him uncomfortable and petrified; entranced and worried all at once. He hadn’t gone through them at the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have head canoned Bombur as a female here because we all need a few more lady dwarves out there. 
> 
> There is a reason that I write the siblings the way I do and the reasons will be shown as the story progresses.

If asked then other elves of Rivendell might say that Elladan had a rather uncanny ability to know about things. If they were going to happen, when they would happen, how they would turn out and often times he knew about things before anyone else. He is the one to come to Elrond early in the morning, armor dawned and weapons drawn as he inclines his head with a suggestion they patrol their borders that afternoon. And now as they ride back into Rivendell he is the first one to dismount, handing the reins of his horse off to Lindir as he scans the ground for Estel and Bilbo.

He can see them, not quite hidden, not quite in sight. Their eyes are wide with childish wonder at the thought of guests, brand new guests. Creatures they have never seen before, never heard of before except in stories now really actually here. Both of them practically vibrate with excitement as they take in all the dwarves have to behold: bushy beards, long braids capped with beads decorated with carvings, heavy packs weighed down and weapons drawn. Elladan wants to look at them too, to stare but not to gape. He wants to observe and watch, to wonder and gaze. But that is not the time for that. He goes straight for Estel and Bilbo, grabbing hold of their wrists. His touch is firm, not quite gentle and not quite warm. It holds more distance than it does familiarity, more fear than it does comfort as he looks down at them and then at his father.

His father stares at him with a slightly pinched expression, his eyes flickering from his face down to his grip on both Estel and Bilbo’s wrists. The boys do not fight the grip but squirm slightly, frowning up at him as they attempt to peer more closely at their guests. His expression becomes smooth as he nods at Elladan.

“I have agreed to offer our guests food if you would not mind helping the boys prepare for dinner.” He does not want to help them prepare. He wants to distance himself from them as much as possible. He needs to distance himself. He must distance himself. From them, from Elrohir who comes down the stairs now. Elrohir has no problems taking Estel and Bilbo’s wrists from his grip and linking their fingers together, his touch full of warmth and familiarity as he says that he will do it. And then he fixes Elladan with a look that tells him he should wash up and compose himself.

His face is perfectly composed, a smooth mask without cracks or creases. There is blood on his armor and coating his hair and he reeks like an orc. But on the outside, yes Elladan’s face is perfectly composed. Even as the dwarves march past him one by one his face remains impassive, no cracks and no creases. And then the wizard stops on the stairs and looks at him from beneath the wide brim of his hat.

“It has been quite some time since we last saw each other. I cannot recall there being a young hobbit here in Rivendell the last time I visited you,” Elladan says nothing as Gandalf continues talking. “Forgive me if I have called him the wrong name but he does not look like an elf.”

“He is a dwobbit. That is the informal name that we’ve given it.” Elladan says quietly and looks away from Gandalf.

“A dwobbit? That is quite fitting. If you don’t mind my saying Elladan you seem rather distant from him and young Estel. I would have thought that having two young ones about would bring a spark of life about.” He does not feel like discussing this, especially not with the wizard. But still he cannot send him away, not with the others still nearby, their gazes peering over their horses and at him. He excuses himself instead.

 “I should prepare myself for dinner.” The smile that he gives the wizard is a false one, too thin lipped to be considered a real smile and the rush in his step too hurried to be considered a walk. Elladan waits until he is certain that he is alone in a hallway before he sprints for the bathroom. And then it becomes a race for the sink where he bends over and coughs time and time again, trying to force something out of his body.

At first all he can manage are coughs, rough and jagged. Then finally he begins to retch, his stomach cramping up as he forces his body time and time again. When he’s finished he straightens up, reaching to wipe at his mouth. Elrohir beats him to it, wiping at the corners with a wet washcloth. Elladan sighs and turns around, closing his eyes to ignore the fussy, worried look in his brother’s eyes.

“Did something happen with the orcs? Were you injured?” Elladan is surprised that his brother has not demanded he strip off his armor yet but knows it will be coming shortly and bats his hands away before they can reach.  

“I am fine,” He searches for some kind of excuse to calm Elrohir who has begun to wet another washcloth; this time going for the back of his neck. “I have not had time to rest with Bilbo and Estel being so energetic.” It’s not exactly a lie and it is enough to calm his brother who steps back.

“I will tell ada that you will not be coming to dinner. Go rest, please.” Even though he promises that yes he will go lie down, that he will rest and eat something later Elrohir still escorts him back to his bedroom and watches as he lies down. Elrohir lingers in the doorway long after Elladan has closed his eyes and watches him, sighing eventually and promising quietly that he will bring some food later. The door is closed with a quiet click and Elladan is left in the dark, still dressed in his blood soaked armor.

* * *

 

He lies down until finally the cramping and twisting of his stomach has stopped and the washcloth has dried, soaking both his neck and his pillow. Elladan rises slowly, throwing the washcloth off his neck and stripping his armor off. He peels his clothes off, throwing them atop the armor and hiding it from view. He is quick to change his clothes before the sick feeling returns and then he is stepping out of his room. And despite the fact that he’s wearing fresh clothes and has his cloak on, pulled tightly around him he still shivers. He shivers as he walks through the hallway. He shivers as he walks into the garden. He shivers as he walks towards the bench where he can make out the hunched over shape of Arwen.

Elladan sits down next to her, not directly beside her. He keeps a small amount of distance between them, watching as she adjusts her grip on Bilbo. He has his fingers stuffed into his mouth, sucking on them loudly as Arwen wraps her cloak around him and begins to rock him back and forth, humming quietly.

“I heard that you were ill earlier.” Arwen says between hums.

“I am feeling better now.” She gives him a doubtful look but does not push the subject as she continues her rocking, back and forth over and over again. Occasionally she throws in small pats to Bilbo’s back as he turns to press his face against her. The air around them is peaceful and almost quiet and then Elladan hears the heavy, almost hesitant footsteps of a dwarf.

The dwarf is short and plump. Every part of them is rounded, more soft and fluffy than hard. Their hair seems to glow even in the darkening light, their beard hanging around their neck like a long chain. In their thick hands is a tray full of breads which they hold out to Elladan and Arwen. In Arwen’s arms Bilbo sits up, curls askew from lying down and eyes brightening at the sight of bread.

“I noticed that the little one didn’t eat much of his supper…Our fault I suppose, all the excitement and things. That and your kind is so tiny…I want to feed you all.” The last part is more of a whisper, the dwarf’s plump face flushing red as one of Bilbo’s hands darts out and grabs a piece. There is no jam on it that Elladan can see but still Bilbo shovels it into his mouth, littering crumbs on his lap and clothes.

“Thank you and it was bound to happen, the excitement of guests and the entertainment of dinner. My brother has not had any food that I know of.” Arwen’s eyes slide over towards Elladan, her tone silky. The dwarf immediately holds the platter out to him, eyes expectant as Elladan’s hands remain by his side. The cramps are back, sharper and rougher as he stares at the bread.

“I do not need any bread, thank you.” Elladan says quietly. Neither of them notices the slight chill in the air, the change in temperature or the wind that blows, whipping his cloak away. Elladan notices it and stands up sharply, nearly knocking the dwarf backwards. He can see the doors, tall and waiting. Waiting on him, waiting for him. Arwen follows his gaze, looking over the hedges and frowning, her brow pinching as Elladan continues to stare.

“What are you looking at?” She asks.

“I do not need food though I thank you. I’m going for a walk.” Elladan says quietly and forces his knees not quake as he walks away, forces himself to keep his pace steady as he walks towards the doors.

He can remember the first time that he ever saw the doors, the intense fear that coursed through his body as he stared at it. It settled in his stomach like a block of ice when he touched the handles. Touching the handles threatened to make the ice explode. It felt as if he had fell through a sheet of ice, the frigidness of it stole the breath from his lungs and choked him. There was just something about the doors that he could not explain that made him uncomfortable and petrified; entranced and worried all at once. He hadn’t gone through them at the time.

Elladan steps through them now. Light is what he sees first, what he hears, touches, smells and tastes first. It’s a bright white light, overwhelming and blinding. It steals all of his senses away, making his toes curl in his boots and his stomach churn. Then he can hear a low buzzing, feel a tingling beneath his fingers, uncurl his toes and his stomach relaxes as he breathes in the scent of it, pure, hot and metallic. And in his mouth he can taste the sharp tanginess of blood and the stinging of sweat. Then everything is fading away and Elladan breathes out and he sits down, crossing his legs and waiting.

“The dwarves have arrived as foretold.” Elladan says quietly and then pauses, waiting. He hears the voice of Mahal before he actually sees him. The creator of the dwarves is loud, thunderous and booming and echoes throughout the room, ricocheting off the endless edges and corners he echoes.

“I know. Were it not for your help I suspect that some orcs would have been dining on my creations tonight.” Mahal clutches his hammer, slinging it over his shoulder as he stares down at Elladan. Still the elf does not move; his hands folded in his lap as he stares at nothing in particular just past Mahal.

“The child Bilbo is doing well though you continue to distance yourself from him.”

“I fear what will happen if I grow close to him. It seems that if Bilbo even stumbles then everyone panics. If he gets a scrape, a cut, a cold it means that he will die. Because he is part hobbit.”

“He is also part dwarf and my wife did not make her hobbits weak. Neither of us made our creatures weak, we made them to endure. From the stone and from the soil, to grow and to strengthen. A cut, a scrape, a cold will not be a death sentence for him and should not prevent your growing closer to the child.”

“I do not think you called me here just to discuss Bilbo. The dwarves have arrived now what am I supposed to do?” Elladan snaps, his patience wearing thin.

“Do not hide Bilbo from them. He is not a secret to be kept and hiding him will only make them become suspicious. Allow yourself to talk to the dwarves, allow your siblings to talk to them.” He knows little of dwarven customs other than their secretive, they are hairy creatures and do not care much for elves. Talking to them, his brother and sister talking to them he cannot imagine.

“Are there any I am supposed to be looking for?” Elladan asks quietly and avoids looking at Mahal’s eyes.

“I cannot tell you that.” Behind him Elladan hears the heavy creaking of the door opening up. He looks at Mahal and then towards the door which waits for him. There are dwarves on the other side of that door, his brother and sister, his father, Estel and Bilbo. He looks back towards Mahal only to find that he is gone. There are no goodbyes exchanged, no looks over his shoulder as he walks back out.

* * *

 

Stepping out is worse than stepping in because the scents are stronger, the sights brighter, the sounds louder. He does not step out smoothly, stumbling over his feet as he attempts to straighten up. He is bent over, his hands on his knees and his mouth open as he gulps in mouthfuls of air. It’s overwhelming. Everything is too strong, too bright and too loud. It has him sinking to his knees and pressing his cheek against the ground.

There are footsteps approaching him again and with it, the heady scent of sweat layered with baked bread. The dwarf from earlier is still in the gardens, still has a platter of breads and this time has Bilbo with them. Bilbo runs directly up to him, kneeling down and patting his sweaty cheek.

“Is everything…Is there anything I can do?” The dwarf asks and Bilbo looks at them, giving a gap toothed smile.

“Elladan is always playing this game!” Elladan’s tongue flicks out, over his teeth and then his lips. Both of them are sticky, dry. His clothes are sticking to him but his shivering has finally stopped. If only the dwarf would stop staring at him.

“Yes, yes I am always playing this game. It’s one of my favorites.” Elladan braces his hands against the ground and forces himself up, dusting his clothes off. Bilbo reaches for his hand, an eager smile on his face. There is bread in his free hand, bread which Elladan knows he’ll be expected to eat. Bilbo has added jam onto it, jam which is now smeared across his hands and clothes and on Elladan’s cheek. And sure enough he holds it out to Elladan, smile expectant.

“Mama says to eat.” Bilbo says.

“Does she now?” His tone falls flat as he takes the bread and shoves it into his mouth. He does not taste it as he chews just enough to force it down his throat without choking on it; just enough to swallow without allowing the sticky sweetness of the jam linger on his tongue and teeth. He does not touch Bilbo, does not hug him or tell him goodnight. Because doing so will cause his body to collapse on the ground all over again like a puppet who’s strings have been dropped; because the jam is keeping his mouth glued shut but most of all because his brother is waiting for him.

He does not see any dwarves but hears their laughter and their chatter. He does not listen to them though, he goes straight back to his room and opens the door, moving directly towards the bed. Elrohir is already there, waiting for him. He is quick to pull off his boots and to prop him up, making worried sounds in his throat.

“I think your soup has gone a little bit cold…I’m sorry.” Elrohir says quietly.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing; if the soup is cold then it’s my fault.” Elladan says and accepts the bowl from him. Elrohir does not let go of it immediately, his eyes flicking from the broth to his brothers face and then frowning.

“Where were you?” It should be easy to lie to Elrohir he has lied for so many years now. How can he tell him that he has stepped through the gates and into another world, that he has met Mahal and Yavanna and even? He stops himself before he can think of it and shrugs.

“I could not rest and wanted to walk.” It’s not entirely a lie but it still turns the soup to ash in his mouth and makes his throat clench. If Elrohir knows it’s a lie then he says nothing. He lies down on the bed, adjusting the pillows as he lies down and closes his eyes. Elladan watches him, staring first at the dark hair fanning across the pillow and then at the hands which he tucks beneath his head.  

His skin seems paler and appears that soon it will take on an ashen tone to it; his dark hair thinner, lighter. And for a moment he considers reaching out and touching his hands to see if they are cold. But as he reaches Elrohir opens his eyes and actually smiles at him, reaching for his arm and giving it a squeeze. And if there’s a chill there Elladan chooses not to feel it, instead spooning another mouthful of cold soup into his mouth to ease the worry there in his brother’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're having some problems with nausea then take a washcloth, wet it, wring it out and put it on the back of your neck. It does help. I may have also accidentally shipped Elladan and Elrohir. The lines between brotherly feels and incest bled into each other during writing. If you squint. Sorry. Not sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is running down the hallway down, giggling and shrieking as someone’s voice floats behind him. Bilbo doesn’t even notice the plump dwarf that he’s about to run into and Elrohir’s warning comes too late. Bilbo smacks into the stomach of the dwarf and falls backwards.

Elrohir opens his eyes and finds that he’s been moved back to his room. He takes a deep breath and then holds it; waiting for the rough hacking that comes more and more often these days. Nothing comes and then he lets it out, sitting up slowly. Beside the bed is Bilbo, blinking up at him and giving a gap toothed smile. 

“Well good morning little one. Did your naneth send you in to wake me up?” Bilbo stuffs one thumb into his mouth, sizing Elrohir up with wide eyes as he mutters an ‘uh-huh’. “Have you had breakfast yet?” 

“No. There are lots of new people here and they’re really hairy.” Bilbo says, scrambling to get up on the bed. Elrohir lies back and opens his arms, closing his eyes as Bilbo settles himself against his side. It’s still early in the morning, the sun barely rising up over the horizon. The idea of having breakfast with those dwarves again is not exactly a comforting thought. Last night had been loud, the loudest that he could ever remember a dinner being. They seemed genuinely disturbed by the lack of meat, horrified by the music and went as far to sing their own songs. It had been a lively tune and the look on his father’s face amusing. But he’d barely noticed it over the whispers that Arwen passed to him as they sat side by side at their instruments. 

The first question was about Bilbo and Estel and their noticeable absence at the dinner tables. His answer that they were having dinner in his room seemed to soothe her only for a moment before Arwen’s shoulders stiffened up again. Elrohir looks towards Bilbo and listens for the sounds of Arwen wandering the hallways. Bilbo is content to lay with one thumb in his mouth and his free hand petting Elrohir’s face. 

“Uncle you’re cold.” Bilbo complains. Elrohir smiles and sits up, dragging Bilbo with him. He turns Bilbo until they are nose to nose, smiling at the blurred dwobbit. 

“I’m cold huh? I’m not cold, you’re cold. And little dwobbits who are cold and make their uncles cold are thrown into the fire and made into chips.” He lifts one of his hands and lets the unspoken threat hover in the air. It’s enough to send Bilbo scrambling across the floor with a high pitched shriek and out the door with a giggle. Elrohir lingers on the bed for a moment after he’s gone, flexing his fingers and searching for the cold before he stands and follows after Bilbo. He can hear Bilbo’s giggles down the hallways; can hear his small voice shushing himself in an attempt to hide for just a moment longer. 

“Are you playing a game of hide and seek Elrohir?” The deep, almost silky voice is unexpected and makes him jump as he turns to face Saruman. The white wizard looks slightly amused, eyes flickering towards where Bilbo’s curls just barely peek out. 

“We’re playing a very early morning game of hide and seek you could say. May I ask what you’re doing here? Not that your presence is ever unwelcome.” 

“I sensed that some things were going to take place which I felt necessary for me to be here. I summoned your grandmother as well.” Elrohir looks up at Bilbo’s excited squeal and then he is sprinting back Elrohir for Galadriel who kneels down with her arms out and ready. Galadriel has barely wrapped her arms around Bilbo before she is peppering kisses across the top of his head, his cheeks, his nose and eyelids. 

“I thought it would be nice to visit you all, a visit being long overdue. And then Saruman found a perfect excuse for me to come visit.” Galadriel says as she pulls back from Bilbo. 

“Wanting to see your grandchildren wasn’t enough?” Galadriel gives him a smile that almost reaches her eyes. She hands Bilbo over to Saruman who takes him willingly enough, lips twitching as Bilbo grabs a piece of his hair. 

“Come little one, I suspect that you are hungry.” And then the wizard is gone, leaving Elrohir with Galadriel. He waits until they are out of sight before he sighs and leans up against Galadriel. 

“I have been having new visions of orcs and Bilbo. They aren’t hurting him but the visions are blurry, I cannot see him clearly or the faces of the orcs clearly.” He does not mention that he is tired nearly all the time and that most of his time up seems to be spent hacking and coughing until blood spills onto the ground. He does not need to though he knows as Galadriel grabs his hands, her thumbs running over his knuckles with a slight frown. When she looks at him it is the first time that Elrohir can remember ever seeing her face being pinched. 

“Have you told your father yet?”

“No I haven’t told them of my decision. I suspect that Elladan knows; I imagine he’s known since before I made the choice.” He tugs his cold hands away from Galadriel and looks down the hallway towards the dining pavilion. He can hear Bilbo talking to Saruman and the wizard’s quiet hums. Soon the dwarves will be up and most likely repeating a performance of last night. Galadriel lifts her hands, cupping his face and turning his head towards her. 

“Go to breakfast. Eat until you feel full. Do not worry about the dwarves, about your visions or about your father. Saruman and I will handle things as necessary.” Her promise is sealed with a kiss on his forehead, feather light and lingering for just a moment before she is gone, walking down the hallway. Elrohir lingers to watch until she disappears then turns and walks in the opposite direction. 

When he arrives to the dining pavilion it’s to the sight of Bilbo sitting with none other than Thorin Oakenshield. The king sits slightly away from the table, the distance between them polite enough. His face is softer than Elrohir remembers it being last night as he watches Bilbo eat. But at the sight of him all warmth drains from the dwarf’s face and he takes another scoot back from the table. 

“I did not know there was a child here among you.” He says carefully. Elrohir sits down next to Bilbo, looking at his plate which is already piled with fruits and breads for him that he has no desire to eat. But Bilbo is looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to eat something. Elladan shoves a mouthful of bread into his mouth, chasing it down with water until it is mushy enough that he can just swallow it.

“Bilbo is Arwen’s son and Estel my brother.” Another mouthful of bread, gulps of water to chase it down until its mushy enough he can just swallow. Over and over again he does this as Thorin Oakenshield stares at Bilbo. 

“He looks like my sister son Fili did when he was a dwarfling.” The bread settles into a lump in his chest. And this time it does not help however many gulps of water he takes it cannot be chased down. He’s considering just dashing away from the table because he is so unsure of how to answer that. He is saved by the arrival of three more dwarves, a silver haired one that appears to be mothering over the other two. 

“Uncle, are you sick again?” Bilbo is patting his cheek, rubbing it as Elrohir finally forces the lump of bread down and smiles at him, laying a hand over his. 

“Sick? I’m never sick.” Elrohir takes a deep breath and then grits his teeth against the cough threatening to work its way out of his mouth. Bilbo frowns, his small hand still stroking and petting his cheek as Elrohir forces his jaw to relax and the cough to remain in his throat. Bilbo lingers there still; lips pursed in a frown before finally he gives his cheek a final stroke. With a final piece of fruit shoved into his mouth Bilbo is gone, promising to come right back. Elrohir waits until he is sure that he is out of earshot before he finally, finally allows himself to double over into a coughing fit. His coughs are loud, rough and jagged as he presses his hand tighter and tighter against his mouth till finally he pulls it away and finds there is blood there on his hand. 

Elrohir is quick to put his hand back beneath the table, clearing his throat which now feels raw and sore. It’s a weak attempt to avoid the stares from the dwarves sitting across from him whose expressions range from disgust to slight wonder. 

“Excuse me. I have been struggling with that cough for over eight years now, difficult thing to get rid of,” Elrohir ignores his water this time, grabbing hold of a passing elf who carries a platter of food. “Wine please.” There is no questioning from the elf but a raised eyebrow which he ignores as he shoves a berry into his mouth. 

“Are you sick?” A dwarf finally asks. They are young, baby faced with a thin frame nearly swallowed up by a baggy cardigan. It is not sickness he wants to say. It is a side effect of fading, of being scared and lonely. It is a side effect of a mask breaking down. 

“No, I’m not sick. I am just…Tired, very tired. Bilbo woke me up early this morning.” Elrohir says quietly as the pitter-patter of footsteps returns. Bilbo is carrying a platter of chips that is bordering on being far too big for his arms to support, tongue sticking out with determination as he walks. Elrohir turns his head away from Bilbo and feels immediately as if he has been punched in the stomach, another cough climbing its way up his throat and threatening to explode. The vision is a clear one with the king that sits across from him on an icy lake, an orc actually sneering at him as he lifts his weapon. Elrohir shoves back from the table so suddenly it jars some of the silverware. 

“Excuse me I’m sorry, it’s just that. I’ve suddenly remembered something I must do. Bilbo behave yourself, okay?” And Elrohir walks because he cannot sprint. Because he is trying to keep his legs from becoming complete jelly and buckling on him as he leans against the wall and scrubs his hands over his face. Slowly Elrohir slides down and lets out a long breath, letting his head loll back and forth. The vision had been so sharp and clear, the orcs face twisted with sheer joy at the blood that coated Thorin Oakenshield’s face. And the dwarf. He looked so tired, ready to collapse there on the ice. When he turns his head there’s yet another dwarf sitting beside him and he blinks, unsure if this one is real or just a vision he’s having. All he can think about is the fact that the dwarf has an ax lodged into their forehead. 

“Sorry I had a…I saw something that I didn’t expect to, a vision. Do you ever have visions?” The dwarf blinks at him for a moment then pats him atop his head and smiles, actually smiles at him as he sits down. He doesn’t speak but instead pulls out a block of wood and sets to carving. Elrohir listens to the sound of the knife scraping across the wood and bit by bit the feeling returns to his legs, making them feel almost solid. He watches as the form of a dog slowly begins to take shape and grins. 

“Estel would love that and so would Bilbo. They were the little ones running around last night, they’ll be under your feet soon enough.” Estel will be up soon enough he knows and that as soon as Bilbo is done eating he will be under everyone’s feet, asking for someone to play and come with him in the gardens. He is running down the hallway down, giggling and shrieking as someone’s voice floats behind him. Bilbo doesn’t even notice the plump dwarf that he’s about to run into and Elrohir’s warning comes too late. Bilbo smacks into the stomach of the dwarf and falls backwards. It takes a moment, a few seconds between his fall and Elrohir’s hiss through clenched teeth that Bilbo opens his mouth to wail. The dwarf lets out a coo and stands Bilbo up, pudgy fingers moving his hands away from where he clutches his head. 

“We’ve only been here for a day Bombur and already you’re injuring children. Do you want us to get kicked out? Oh, hit your head did you?” A dwarf with a floppy eared hat joins Bombur in looking at Bilbo, pushing the curls away and nodding. “Ye’ll be okay, just a little bump.” He gives Elrohir a grin as he takes Bilbo and hands him over in one smooth motion. Bilbo’s tears are forgotten as he looks at the dog in the ax head dwarf’s hands. 

“I see that you two have met Bifur. Can’t speak one bit of the common tongue but he’ll still talk to ye.” The hatted dwarf continues on as Bombur steps forward, clearing her throat quietly. 

“Did you get any food last night? I brought bread but you only had a little bit.” 

“I only saw you at dinner last night. We did not see each again after that.” 

“It was me who you gave the bread too and yes, my brother brought me some food.” Elladan says as he comes down the hallway, flanked by a sheepish looking star haired dwarf. Bilbo lets out a squeal in his arms and bats them away, sprinting for the dwarf who he wraps himself around. 

“I win, I win Nori!” Bilbo cries and the dwarf looks even more embarrassed as he lifts Bilbo up, holding him at arm’s length. 

“Indeed you did little one. Here why don’t you go back to…Just go back to them.” Nori nearly drops Bilbo who sprints back to Elladan, holding his hands up. 

“I will lead you to the dining pavilion.” Elladan offers the dwarves and lifts Bilbo. The dwarves follow after Elladan, Bombur pausing to toss a strange look at Elrohir as they pass. The only one who remains is Bifur and with the pitter patter of footsteps Bilbo is back, plopping himself across Elrohir’s lap. He gives a gap toothed grin and then holds up a pair of dice which he promptly throws across the ground. Elrohir lifts one of his feet and brings it down, watching as the dice once more land on the same number. 

“Loaded dice, seems that these dwarves are teaching you all sorts of things.” Beside him Bifur hands a completed dog which Bilbo grins. With a shriek of thank you and grabbing the dice he sprints off once more. Bifur watches him disappear with a crinkly eyed smile then turns on Elrohir, handing over another carving. This one is of a dwarf, one with similar features to Bilbo and wielding an ax over his head. 

“Is there something you know that you would like to share with me?” Elrohir asks. Bifur only stares at him, nodding at the carving which Elrohir still clutches in his hands. Then with a pat on top of Elrohir’s head he is gone and Elrohir is left alone with a carving in his hand and blood on his hands as he hunches over in another coughing fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not originally going to have Sauruman appear for a while if at all. But then I learned about the passing of Christoper Lee and it seemed only appropriate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a break from the Hobbit fandom recently because I noticed that people were well. They were just being rude and downright nasty with each other. That and each time I scrolled through all I saw was Bagginshield, Fiki, Kiliel or reader inserts. No creativity, no originality. And the people who are seem lucky to get one, two kudos because a Bagginshield with the same plot used twenty times before is somehow better. 
> 
> We as writers should not have to fight to get one, two, three fucking kudos because generic bullshit is taking over a fandom. 
> 
> Also a message for everyone: stop asking me to update. Don't even mention that word to me. You are so fucking rude when you comment "update, update soon, update now". I will update when I have a drive, when I'm not sick and when I fucking feel like writing. Jesus, my life does not revolve around this and to tell me to update is rude. I speak for everyone on this.

Arwen decides quickly that dwarves are strange creatures. They lack table manners, an easy thing to decipher after watching the performance of the hatted one during dinner. They are loud she knows as their laughter carries from their pavilion all the way to hers and Bilbo’s shared room. They are vain creatures. Their first morning there they spend nearly an hour setting their hair right and combing their beards. They are not stupid creatures either or perhaps they are just not as oblivious as some assume. But it takes only a day before she is approached by a white haired dwarf with a sweeping, forked beard. She is sitting in the garden with Bilbo who is walking from bush to bush attempting to pick out exactly what flowers will do for the crown he is intent on making. The dwarf seats himself beside her and takes out his pipe which he promptly lights after a smile and a nod at her. He is not warm but polite. They sit together in silence watching Bilbo who continues his flower picking and the dwarf smokes; filling the air between them with the thick and heady scent. He waits until Bilbo has gone out of earshot and disappeared behind a particularly large rose bush that he turns to her.

“How long have you been harboring the secret prince of Durin?” He asks and blows a smoke ring into the air.

“It is not harboring when I am his mother. And he is not able to really be a prince now is he? From what I’ve heard and read illegitimate and half-breed children will not be allowed the throne.” He looks surprised but not bested as he takes another long drag from that pipe and blows another smoke ring into the air. Arwen allows her lips to curl sharply into a smile that is not quite friendly.

“In answer to your question, eight years. Bilbo’s next name day will not be for several more months. His birth mother Belladonna Took passed away during the birth; my father was amazed she made it to the birth. She told him that it progressed faster than a normal pregnancy should and that Bilbo grew too large too fast. Her husband had been suffering from illness himself the last weeks before Bilbo’s birth and did not feel he would be fit to care for the child. It was agreed between the two of them Bilbo be fostered here.” The dwarf fixes her with a stare that she suspects is meant to be searching for a lie then finally he nods and returns to his pipe but this time does not take a drag from it.

“I see a strong resemblance to his father, Frerin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór. I wish that I could tell you what happened to Frerin but I do not know. He was lost to us in the Battle of Azanulbizar. Dead or taken prisoner I do not know but we never found his body and those who were left alive did not want to recount tales of war and tell whether or not they had seen him.”

“Do any of the others know about Bilbo?”

“I suppose that Dori might suspect. My brother was close to the princes when they were dwarflings so I do not doubt he has known. If Dwalin knows then Thorin will soon know too. I dare say there might be some competition for your son.” It’s ended with a light chuckle, one which she meets with another sharp lipped smile.

“I would like to see your king try for everything he has faced I guarantee you that he is no match for me.” This time the chuckle sounds more genuine and he bows his head, winking at her as he lifts his head.

“Allow me to introduce myself. Balin son of Fundin.” And her smile softens if only by a hair.

Balin it turns out is a well-mannered and educated dwarf who shares stories of Erebor with her and Bilbo for the moments that he is not bringing flowers to the both of them. No mentions are made though of the princes and Balin focuses on the task of weaving the flowers together with a somewhat grim smile. Crown after crown is made between them and brought to them by Bilbo who lingers for a moment before he runs off. It’s halfway through the day that another dwarf joins them, another one unfamiliar to her except for his complaints about the food. She does not look up from her task as she talks to him.

“I hope you got your chips master dwarf.” He pauses as if searching her voice for any malice then finally he clears his throat, nodding slightly. He is carting an armful of books which he adjusts awkwardly in his arms.

“I was wondering if you could tell me about these books. I found them in the library but no one there was able to translate them for me.” The books are old with thick spines and worn covers. When she opens the pages they crinkle and the spine groans as if in protest. The pages inside are yellowed and wrinkled; several of them sticking together when she attempts to turn the page. The writing itself looks ancient and is nearly faded. She runs a hand down the page and thinks that she may as well be running it down the rotting bark of a tree with the rough dryness. She is apologetic as she partly hands, partly shoves the book back at the dwarf with a slight twist of nausea in her gut.

“I am sorry but I don’t understand the language.” He looks disappointed but does not press the matter. Balin finishes the weave on his flower crown and promptly sets it between them. Standing up he pops his back and then smiles at the dwarf.

“Well come on lad, why don’t you show me the library? I’ve wanted to take a look at it.” Arwen is left alone with a bow and two different smiles; one polite, one nervous. Turning away she is met by Bilbo who has an armful of flower crowns.

“Can we give one to each? Do I have enough?” He is carrying enough flower crowns that some are spilling over the edges of his arms. But still she smiles, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.

“I think we could do with just one more. Don’t forget your mama.” And his eyes widen with the idea that such a horrid thing could happen. Dropping the crowns Bilbo runs back to the flowers.

* * *

 

The flower crowns are laid out by Bilbo who puts one on each of the plates. It is still early in the evening but the appetites of their guests have forced them to make larger meals and she does not doubt the cooks are scrambling to find some sort of meat. Bilbo is careful to lay out each crown, a mix of individual flowers on the plates and then standing back with her in waiting. The first one to come is the young princes who she knows only from the descriptions from her father. They come into the dining room together with sopping wet hair and grins on their faces. They stop abruptly at the sight of Bilbo and stare. Looking at each she sees confusion and then wonder and curiosity followed by an insatiable need to touch. And it does not take long before the dark haired prince is picking Bilbo up and grinning at him.

“Well hello there. I’ve never seen an elfling before. You are so cute though your toes are kind of hairy.” Bilbo’s response is a firm kick in the chest which causes the dwarf to gasp and nearly drop him. He is saved by the blonde one who makes a quick grab for him and then pulls him away from his brother.

“I don’t think he liked that Kili though it was nice of you to try. Well then little one can you forgive my brother if we accept your flower crown offerings?” Kili does not answer his brother but throws a rude hand gesture as he clutches at his chest and wheezes.

“Bilbo,” Arwen prompts though she bites back a smile. “What do you say?”

“I’m not an elfling.” And with a wiggle Bilbo is out of the blonde ones arms, running down the hallway and away from the dining room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to write for this story because my muse hit me and wanted to take me in a whole new direction which meant basically throwing out everything I already had. Thankfully Lee told me to kick it which I did. The story will be going in a new direction one which is going to be dark as fuck and angsty and messy. But also fluff. 
> 
> If you don't like my pairings I decided on, don't read. The romance isn't going to dominate it and most of it will be a background. Fili and Kili aren't the only siblings who can enjoy the sausage tossage every once in a while. Also go fuck yourself it's my story and I don't see you writing it. 
> 
> Needed to get that off my chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm rewriting this and obviously have changed a lot. I deleted the original because I got a lot of hate and I mean a lot for the way I did things. Like to the point I seriously questioned everything I had done for the story. I went back and looked at a lot of it, hated and I mean just wanted to scream and claw my eyes out, hatred. That and people told me that they hated it. That I didn't do a good job, that it was shit and I hadn't done the story justice. So...Yeah. 
> 
> Obviously some things will be different. As far as the romance goes, I don't know if there will be any Bowen or if there will be any romantic (background) relationship pairings.
> 
> And some stuff, please realize I just do not give a fuck. I really don't. Because this is my story, I've put the fucking sweat, blood and tears into it and poured them over my keyboard. I have worked hard, deleted it once and am determined to finish this if it kills me. With a smile on my face of course because this story is about family and the power of love.


End file.
